The Outcast Prince (3 page)

“It will be. Once that’s done and you’re done, the carve-up can begin.” Her words caught in her throat and she turned away to walk down the last flight of stairs.

He felt the shock as a physical blow, breaking apart the pieces that made up Callaway House would be like destroying any artifact. He suppressed the urge to voice his objections. This wasn’t his house, and he knew nothing about Madam Callaway’s will, only that Lydia obviously didn’t want that to happen either.

“You’re selling?” was all he managed to say as he followed her to the rear of the house and into the kitchen.

“Hopefully not. But the will may be contested, so I have to be prepared.” Her lips turned down, but she lifted her gaze to him. “Still, it’s got to be done and it’s not your problem. So, when will you start?”

Caspian looked at the notes he’d made, then back at Lydia. Her eyebrows were slightly raised as she waited for his response. He wanted to be something else, someone else so she wouldn’t see him and think of her grandmother’s death. No matter what he did, death surrounded him. The joy of being fairy.

He should finish this job as fast as possible because an attraction to Lydia would only end badly. Yet he wanted to see her blond hair loose and without the suit she wore like armor. When he blinked, the image of her leading him up the stairs to the bedrooms remained. A taunt? A glimpse of the future? Or the past teasing him with things he couldn’t have?

“Did your grandmother have any of the furniture valued previously? Or did she keep a list of items for insurance?”

Lydia pushed a black folder over the kitchen table. “This is everything I could find. But I don’t know how complete it is, or how accurate. I know it’s not recent.”

He picked up the folder without touching the table. He was very used to not touching surfaces. Usually his defense against unwanted information was better, but the sheer weight of history around him was unavoidable.

Caspian flicked a couple of pages and saw the handwritten list. Spots of water had stained the page. Tears. He didn’t need to see the past to know that. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

“Most people won’t be.” She forced a smile that held no warmth, and he knew it was one that got well used. “Once the press finds out…” She shook her head.

He could imagine. The house’s history would be in the news again, and Lydia by default. “You don’t have to be here while I work if you’d rather keep your distance.”

Her eyes flashed, hard as stone. “I want to be here. This is my house.”

“I’d like you to be here too, to answer any questions I have.” Now he would have to ask some questions, otherwise she might ask a few too many of her own about why he insisted on touching everything. Everything but her, even though he wanted to reach out and run his fingers over skin instead of lifeless wood and metal. Old memories of other people’s lives were a hollow reminder of everything he’d walked away from. “Evenings?”

“Weekend?”

“I have a shop to run on Saturday.”

She pressed her lips together as she thought. “You don’t mind coming here for just a few hours at a time?”

“Not at all.” He was sure that would be all he’d be able to handle of the past, and of being near Lydia. Maybe it was the house causing such a strong reaction. It wasn’t easy being surrounded by lust and not feeling something. His blood warmed at the acknowledgment. He would not be driven by instinct like a sex-crazed fairy. It was the house getting to him. Next time he would be better guarded.

“Great. Six o’clock tomorrow? I’ll try not to get caught up at work.”

“And if you are?”

“You’ll have to wait.” She neatly put him back in his place with a few words and a smile.

If he hadn’t glimpsed the heat in her eyes that sparked for just a second he would have thought the attraction was only going one way. Instead his heart kicked over again as he shook her hand and said good-bye. The heat of her skin seared into his palm, and her fingers trailed over the back of his hand for a moment too long.

As he slid into the seat of his car, he couldn’t be sure whether it was Lydia’s lingering touch or the lure of the fairy-touched mirror in the backseat that had his pulse racing. Both were dangerous. And yet he couldn’t help wanting more of each…

Caspian pulled into his garage, the call of the mirror humming in his blood. It was almost as if he didn’t have any choice but to pull it out and do a further examination from his workbench. He hesitated, not wanting to give in to the lure. But the sooner he could give the mirror a proper assessment, the sooner he could get rid of it, and the trouble it would bring.

He’d worked too hard for too long to avoid all politics of the Court. No one needed to know he was the Prince’s son. The father who’d raised him certainly hadn’t guessed Caspian’s real heritage, and he had a feeling his mother had never said a word about her affair with the irresistible fairy Prince. The Court of Annwyn was dangerous, and the less he had to do with it, the better. If this was what they were looking for, they were welcome to it. The four hundred and fifty dollars was a small price to be free of fairies—yet still in their good favor.

He carefully pulled off the wrapping he’d put on the mirror to protect it during transportation. His finger trailed over the carved walnut frame. The detail was beautiful, the scrollwork smooth and even. A well-made piece even without the fairy influence. He kept his gaze on the wood and not the glass, yet even at the edges of his vision he saw the shadows move, thickening and becoming clearer. He closed his eyes against the distraction and let the wood’s past form pictures in his mind.

Caspian saw a middle-aged woman, then a younger version receiving a gift. A wedding gift. The house where it had hung for one hundred years and back to the man who’d carved the frame. His first impression had been right. The frame was authentic, which made it worth far more than what he’d paid. It also made him doubt it was what the fairies were looking for. This was human made, not fairy crafted. Merely enchanted, and not the Window.

Keeping his eyes closed, he let his fingers drift to the glass, not sure what he’d see in the enchanted pane, only that the magic was in the glass, not the wood. Darkness, storage. The back of the wardrobe where it had been kept. He went deeper, older. Something shifted and the glass cooled beneath his skin. Then he saw the fairy who’d placed the enchantment on the human-made mirror. A pregnant woman—a fairy—who smiled as she stared and Caspian knew she was seeing the Court. She had charmed the mirror so she wouldn’t get homesick. Images skipped past and he saw she was in lust with a human man, and to satisfy her desire she was playing his wife and in return he was giving her what a fairy man couldn’t—children.

Caspian’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. The fairies sneered at humans unless they wanted heirs; then they used magic to lure and seduce the unfortunate human to their bed. Fairy men took human women, and fairy women took human men. It was the only way fairies could breed and usually the children were born in Annwyn, ensuring continuation of the line.

Somehow his mother had convinced the Prince to let her go and give birth to him in the mortal world. Not a fairy and not quite mortal yet bound by the rules of both worlds. Still, it could have been worse; he could’ve actually been a fairy.

He looked at the beautiful woman in the mirror. She would have gone home to give birth. How long had the woman remained in the mortal world before growing bored and returning to Annwyn for good? Had she left behind a heartbroken husband? And what of her child? The mirror didn’t have those answers.

Beyond the old images the shadows moved. Caspian opened his eyes. The fairy Court was before him as if he was looking through a window, not through the veil and into another world. The clothes glittered in silver and gold, a glittering rainbow of velvets, brocades, and silks cut in styles no human had ever worn. One man drew all attention as he danced to music Caspian could almost hear. Changing partners and spinning them around. Elegant and graceful in a way no human could be. For a heartbeat he wanted to join the dance instead of just watching. Heads turned as if he’d spoken the thought aloud. Eyes as pale as ice and twice as cold stared.

Eyes exactly like his. His father.

Caspian yanked his hand away, his skin stinging like he’d been holding snow. He flipped the blanket over the glass, his heart racing to get away. It was too late. They’d all seen him. His father had seen him. Caspian stepped back, but the temptation lingered to glance again at the beauty no living human should see. If a human danced, or drank, or ate the food, they’d be trapped in Annwyn forever or until the King decided to release them.

And he was human enough that the rule applied to him.

He swallowed and took another step back. Then another. Each pace was a victory of willpower over seduction. The more distance he put between himself and the enchanted glass, the more its power waned. When he closed the connecting door between the garage and house, the lure was almost gone. At least the mirror was only enchanted, not fairy-made. Fairy-made objects were a whole other bundle of trouble. The memory of the Grey from the garage sale rose in his mind.

He leaned against the door and closed his eyes. Images of the party in Annwyn flickered past and longing rose in his blood. Only it wasn’t the fairies who turned and looked at him; it was Lydia, beckoning him to dance at Callaway House.

Reality was blurring. He needed to ground himself in ordinary tasks. He opened his eyes, but his house was quiet. There were fairies here, but he never saw them. Brownies had taken up residence after his breakup with Natalie and they kept the house clean. As in immaculate and far cleaner than any human could manage. In exchange, he left out tea and cookies as was the proper thing to do.

The tiny porcelain tea set—an eighteenth-century Minton children’s set—that sat on the corner of the kitchen counter was empty, so he topped it up with a little milk in the jug and a little sugar in the bowl, some tea leaves and water to the teapot, and a wafer on each of the plates. He had no desire to be sharing his house with an angry Brownie who felt disrespected. When dealing with fairies, he’d learned if they couldn’t be avoided they should be respected… in the same way people respected any dangerous wildlife: keep a good distance where possible, don’t make eye contact, and run.

In addition to cleaning, the Brownies kept the Greys away. Because the power of the Court ran in his blood, fairies flocked to him like moths to a light. A fairy banished from Court became a Grey; cut off without access to the magic, they began to lose energy. Some chose stature and lost their looks, becoming skeletal ghouls of nightmares. Some chose to remain beautiful and became the tiny imps or pixies of children’s tales that would shrink to magnificent nothing over time. Others chose power and became ugly, small, and spiteful boggarts. He’d seen them all and everything in between. Brownies, however, either chose not to live at Court, or they had been exiled to the mortal world, which was a social death instead of actual death. Since he never saw them, he’d never had the chance to ask, and they probably wouldn’t tell him anyway.

Caspian made himself a cup of coffee and waited. As much as he avoided fairies, Dylis was an exception. She’d been charged with his care at his birth and would kill to protect him. After thirty-five years of her company, he was used to having her flit in and out and he’d learned to ignore her in public. He expected she’d breeze in any second.

Halfway through the coffee, Dylis appeared. He sensed her a heartbeat before he saw her, a blur of sliver and purple as she jumped onto the counter and helped herself to one of the cookies he’d left out for the Brownies. “Nice mirror,” she said between bites.

“If you like that kind of thing.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you even want to peek at the party? I do. It’s been ages since I was at Court.” She fixed her glacier blue gaze on him, like a sullen doll. A slash of silver passed for a skirt and was topped with a purple frock coat. Dylis enjoyed a flair for the dramatic. But this doll was armed; wherever she went, a short silver sword hung at her side. Dylis was more deadly than she looked.

“You went last weekend.”

“That was business.”

“Reporting back.”

Dylis laid her hand on her heart. “Never. I was getting the latest gossip.” She shook her head. “You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s been a major falling out and things are very unbalanced.”

“I don’t care for Court politics.” The games, the scheming, and the cutthroat—literally—behavior made human politicians look like kids playing dress-up.

“You will if it bleeds through the veil.”

Caspian put down his coffee. “What do you mean?”

“The river isn’t flat.” She lowered her voice further so he had to strain to hear. “It has ripples.”

The last time the river of damned souls had rippled, millions had died of the Spanish flu. If it broke its banks, death would spill into the mortal world and plague would just be the beginning.

“Does it have to do with the mirror they want?”

Dylis shook her head. “That’s a separate but related issue.”

Of course it was, because fairies never did anything the easy way. There had to be layers of intrigue and dealings and games.

“But there are whispers a Grey is after the Window.” She was frowning at her cookie. Was she actually concerned?

The memory of the tall Grey chilled his blood. A banished fairy, an enchanted mirror, and ripples on the river. He didn’t believe in coincidences, not when the Court was involved.

“And by talking about them you’re feeding them.” He would not be dragged into Court intrigue.

“It can’t be allowed to fall into the Grey’s hands. With it he could get back into Annwyn and cause all kinds of strife.” She looked up at him. “Your father is concerned.”

His father. His fairy father. The man he’d never met and whose sole contribution to his life was to assign Dylis to his protection.

“I said I’ll keep an eye out.” And even though his gut was telling him to run, he knew he would check any mirror that came across his path. The idea of a Grey sneaking into Annwyn and causing trouble didn’t sit well. That there were already ripples was a concern. What was going on?

“You swear?”

Caspian shook his head. He wasn’t going to be drawn into making a deal and agreeing to help.

“You’re no fun.” She kicked the teacup.

Caspian smiled and straightened it up, knowing she wouldn’t really do anything to anger the Brownies. He knew she liked to socialize with them. He’d heard the music late at night when they’d thought he was asleep.

“You need to come to Court. It’s so much more fun than,” she waved her hand around, “this place.”

“And when I fall into step and get caught in the dance? Or if I sip the wine? Taste the food? What then?” He knew. He’d be stuck until the King or his father chose to release him, but the cost would be his soul.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and turned her back as if she was angry.

Maybe she was. Maybe she’d been asked to convince him to visit Court. Or maybe she was just trying to get her own way. Sometimes she was worse than his ex-wife. Dylis had hated Natalie. She’d never trusted her. He should’ve listened and saved himself the heartache.

Dylis’s back straightened. If she’d been a cat her fur would’ve been standing on end; as it was he could sense the shift in her energy. Caspian followed her line of sight out the kitchen window.

His heart forgot to beat. In his yard was the Grey he’d seen earlier. He tried to act like he was casually looking out of the window, but the Grey raised his hand in greeting.

“He’s seen us,” Dylis whispered.

“Oh yeah, and he knows we’ve seen him.”

“Where did you get that mirror?” She spoke without taking her gaze off the tall fairy.

“Garage sale.”

“The one time you go without me and you come back with a Grey on your tail.” Her teeth remained clenched together.

The Grey vanished as if he’d never been there, and Dylis moved as if freed from a spell.

“I need to see the mirror.”

“It’s not the Window, only enchanted. And if it’s his, he can have it.” Losing the money was nothing compared to what the Grey could take. A banished fairy would do anything to get home, and the soul of a changeling would be a sizeable bargaining chip. If the Grey suspected which fairy was his father, it could be an even bigger problem.

If one enchanted mirror brought a Grey to his house, what kind of trouble would the Window bring? Getting caught up in fairy problems never went well for humans, and he didn’t think it would go much better for changelings. Yet he was already involved. Even if it was as simple as examining every mirror, if the Court wanted to they could force him into a deal to find it or pay the penalty. A Grey could do the same.

“It may not be that simple.”

No, it never was with fairies. “You can look at the mirror. I’ve seen enough of the Court for one day.”

Dylis opened her mouth, but he turned away and she didn’t press the point. Instead she flung the garage door open with more magic than necessary. He flinched as the door handle slammed against the wall and left a dent. The Brownies would fix it, but that wasn’t the point.

With the door open and Dylis unwrapping the mirror, Caspian needed to put some distance between him and the glass. He needed to do something human and mundane. So he went upstairs to work. He needed to tally his hours and send an estimate for his work at Callaway House. As he waited for the laptop to wake up, he could almost hear the tune of the music coming from Annwyn. In his mind he could see the dancers. Their beautiful clothes and unearthly faces. It was unnatural and yet he could feel the lure the same as any fairy. The call to go home.

A shiver raced over his skin and produced a shudder. He was home. He was human; this was where he’d been born and this was where he was staying.